by Rose Fox
“Perhaps.”
Adam stretched out in the armchair. “It’s childish, but that’s the easy part. I believe I will resolve that matter this week.”
* * *
That same evening, Adam called Abigail and asked to meet with her. He sounded serious and she agreed.
“Tomorrow at five?”
“No problem, that’s fine,” she said without paying attention to the fact that the following day was Friday, April 2nd, the day the writer of the note had asked to meet with her. She only remembered it the following morning and hesitated whether to cancel the meeting with Adam him in spite of the invitation to Café Aroma.
They met at five the following afternoon, two legal figures, a judge and an attorney. They chose to sit at the café on Raines Street, where they had met two years earlier, when they still had no matters of mutual interest. They both seemed to have grown a lot older in the two years that had passed. Their little daughter, Arlene, was growing up in her grandmother’s tents and Judge Ayalon looked at Abigail’s beautiful face and wondered when to give her the note he had received from his “Mossad” friend.
The waitress came to take their order. Abigail ordered a cappuccino and Adam asked for a small cup of strong black coffee. They didn’t speak but looked around until the coffee was served to them.
Abigail glanced at her wristwatch for the second time but said nothing.
“How is our little girl?” he asked and Abigail noticed how he stressed the word ‘our’.
“She’s amazing. But, you should know that she has almost nothing from you.”
“You said ‘almost’.”
“Yes, she has lighter coloring than me and you can tell she’s of mixed blood.”
“And the color of her eyes? Are they like her mother’s?”
“No, they are bright blue and she is simply gorgeous. What’s more, she’s getting the best possible upbringing,” she added.
“Wonderful, wonderful. If you’re satisfied, then so am I.” Adam said.
Abigail glanced at her watch again and he sipped his coffee and rested the cup on the little saucer. Abigail smoothed the table cloth with her hand and laughed. They both noticed that the table was covered with the same red and white checked cloth as at their first meeting at the café.
Adam looked up at Abigail and his expression grew serious as he said:
“I was asked to deliver a message to you and I’m worried because I know its contents.” He took a note from his pocket and read it.
“Next Monday at 10, near the tall trees. To be continued, as planned.”
“Okay, I heard,” she said.
He glanced at her and wondered whether to tell her that he and Judge Anton were also supposed to reach ‘the tall trees’ on the appointed day, but he wondered if those were the same trees and also knew he was not permitted to share the knowledge with her. Now, he added.
“I understand that you’re involved in something clandestine. I was asked to meet you and read you the notice and then destroy it, as I am doing now.”
He took a lighter out of his pocket and set fire to the note, which burned and blackened, then crumbled as its burnt remains dropped into the ashtray on the table.
“I understand they mean in another four days, right?” and Abigail did not reply.
“You can talk to me because I’m the person, who delivered the instruction.”
He lifted her chin with his finger and looked into her beautiful eyes and she responded with a mysterious smile on her lips.
“I also understand that you’re not only a judge on the bench. You also get around.”
She looked at her wristwatch with a thoughtful expression.
“Are you in a hurry?” Adam asked, but she didn’t reply.
Abigail was very tense. That morning she remembered that it was Friday, April second and she had been asked to meet the person, who left her the note, at Café Aroma. At present the contents of the note Adam had brought her did not interest her at all and all her attention was focused on the meeting that was to take place later. She had not yet decided whether she would go, but as the hour grew closer, her tension increased.
Café Aroma was not far from the café where she was sitting now and she glanced at her wristwatch once more. It was ten past five, meaning she had less than two hours till the meeting.
The waitress came to ask if they wanted to order something more and they shook their heads to say no. When she left them, Abigail spoke so quietly to Adam that he had to lean towards her to hear what she was saying.
“Someone wants to meet me today at seven,” she glanced at her wristwatch and said: “In almost two hours’ time.”
“This evening, at seven?” Adam asked and Abigail hushed him, “Shhhh… I don’t know if I can involve you in this because I have a feeling it’s something personal.”
“Where is this meeting supposed to take place?” He asked.
“At Café Aroma on the corner of Dizengoff and Frishman Streets.”
She took the crumpled ball of paper out of her pocket straightened out its creases. The printed letters were visible between the folds as they were straightening out.
Everything that happened that day took place within a few minutes, minutes that made the difference between life and death. Hours later, when the tough incident was over, Abigail thought how lucky she was that she had consulted with Adam before the meeting and knew it was the reason she was still alive.
Adam suggested they cross to another corner, facing Café Aroma to observe the place where the intended meeting was to take place. It seemed like a good idea and they moved to a café on the other side of Dizengoff Street, diagonally opposite Café Aroma.
A display window faced west and now, when the sun was setting, its rays shone on the glass. Abigail chose to sit beside it because she was able to observe what was happening on the street and knew it would be hard to see inward from outside. Adam sat at another table near the doorway and was able to keep a lookout on Café Aroma.
Suddenly, Abigail’s phone buzzed in her handbag. She thought twice about answering but saw the call was from Michal and decided to pick it up and didn’t regret doing so. Michal told her that she had an answer about the break-in to her apartment and the murder of her sister, Latifah.
I wanted to tell you that there are overlapping findings that connect the break-in to the murder.”
What connects them?” Abigail asked as she kept looking at the black and red café.
“There’s something common to the two events. The same tiny heel marks and dark hair were found both times.”
“Thank you, Michal. You’re a sweetheart.” She was about to hang up when she heard Michal say, “do you recall the broken shiny metal triangle, you gave me?
“Yes, yes, so?”
“It’s a part that broke off a Shuriken or what people in the Far East call a ‘killing star’ or a ‘ninja star’. It’s often made up of five triangles attached to a cord. A fin is added to the star and guides its direction when it’s thrown. The fin broke off when she threw it at your sister.”
Abigail suddenly understood what Michal was saying.
“Did you say a woman murdered my sister!?”
“Yes, and she apparently also came to search for the fin that broke off the star in your silverware draw. It was important not to leave proof at the site,” and she added,
“Abigail, take care. It’s possible that someone from the Far East, with dark hair, is coming after you.”
“I love you, Michal. You’ve been a great help, Bye,”
Abigail said quickly hung up because at that very moment she noticed a tiny figure with slanted eyes and dark hair. The black gloves on her hands matched her clothes. She was elegantly dressed in a black skirt and blouse and Abigail smiled to herself as she thought that there was no way that she answered the description of a ruthless murderer, a thief, who was plotting, cunning and very dangerous.
Adam, it seems, had also noticed her and hissed “P
ssst”. Abigail nodded to show she had also seen her and she looked at the large clock that hung on the wall behind the counter.
The hands on the dial showed it was 6.51 and her leg muscles hurt her. She remembered that her knowledge of self-defense was limited to the training she had received from Giron, the teacher, at ‘The Home’, Arlene’s boarding school, and it occurred to her that his lessons might be of some help to her against the small and delicate figure that was making her way along the sidewalk facing her. It never occurred to her that she was looking at a battle-savvy woman, who had been trained to kill her victims with her bare hands and had already done so dozens of times, without the blink of an eye.
The nine minutes until the appointed time dragged like an eternity and adrenaline coursed through her veins. The only thought that preoccupied her now was the opportunity to avenge her sister’s murder at this woman’s hands. Suddenly she had no fear at all.
Seven o’clock had already passed and the woman in the gloves stood casually in front of the display window of the large “Ivanir” store and looked at the mannequins in the display behind the glass. She stood with her back to Café Aroma and there was no sign she had any intention of sitting there. Abigail began to relax, thinking she was mistaken in attributing this meeting to her.
Suddenly the realization flashed into Abigail’s mind that the woman was using the display window as a mirror to look back and examine who was coming to the café. Adam made hand signals to her to show her he was going out there to find a place to sit but Abigail shrugged her shoulders because she didn’t know what she ought to do. Now she wondered whether she was recognizable to the person who arranged to meet her.
“I’ll go, she doesn’t know me.” Adam moved his lips voicelessly, and Abigail gave him a thumbs-up sign to wish him ‘good luck’. She stared after him as he crossed the road and sat down at a black table on the sidewalk.
The sun’s rays were weaker now and the stores began closing one after the other. The Sabbath eve was growing closer and brought more people to the area, which was always very busy. People thronged onto the sidewalk and joined those, who were already strolling about there.
The woman in the dark clothes had still not moved. She continued staring at the display window, examining the mannequins and didn’t attract any attention, but suddenly turned her face; first towards the café where Abigail was still sitting in the place Adam had left a minute earlier. She apparently made the connection between the place he had left and his move to Café Aroma. Abigail turned the back of her head to the glass, taking care that her face would not be seen if the woman in black knew what she looked like and could recognize her.
Making an on-the-spot decision, she got up, breathed deeply and went towards the street. She waited on the opposite sidewalk, crossed the busy traffic and watched the dark figure of the woman, who was still staring into the display window, out of the corner of her eye.
When Abigail reached the café, she saw Adam waving to her and signaling something. At first she didn’t react and continued forward until she was almost at the tables and discerned his signals. She turned round all at once and moved to one side.
The woman, who apparently was able to recognize Abigail as she crossed the street, had left her spot at the display window and ran after her to the café. When she was a short distance from her, she raised her arm to strike Abigail from behind, but she fell down from the momentum of the failed blow. She got back up on her feet with the same agility, turned round quicker than the eye could perceive, raised her leg and struck Abigail with her left hand. Abigail lost her balance and fell on the table behind her. The table turned over another two tables like a row of domino cubes and she slipped under it. Within seconds, the woman moved the table and kicked Abigail right in her face.
Abigail became nothing more than a rag doll to this woman. Her body was flexible and her catlike movements were nimble and very fast. She faced Abigail with her legs spread and ready for battle. Abigail tried to get up from under the overturned table and the woman improved her position while moving her arms. Passersby stopped talking and stood motionless and fixed to the spot.
Abigail tasted blood in her mouth and a small trickle edged past her lips, at the corner of her mouth. Again, she tried to get up on her feet, but rocked backward dizzily and the blow aimed at her by the woman in black again missed its mark. Suddenly the woman crouched and ran towards Abigail like an arrow released from a bow, her head tilted forward in order to ram into her, but Abigail shifted a few centimeters sideways from where she stood before, joined the fingers of both hands together and brought them down in a powerful blow on the back of the woman’s neck. She put every last ounce of her weight and strength into that blow and the woman sank to the sidewalk and lay there, motionless.
Someone photographed the woman lying on the sidewalk and more flashbulbs were evidence of more cameras documenting the situation.
Abigail took a step back and was swallowed up in the crowd.
There was not a drop of blood to be seen in the area, only overturned tables and people standing and staring at the drama that had just taken place.
The wail of a police car siren was heard as it skidded to a halt, doors opened and a policeman went to the woman in black, who was lying motionless on the leg of the overturned table. He spoke into his radio phone and called for an ambulance. A second policeman searched among the people for the person who had struck her.
Abigail was no longer there. She had moved away quickly among the people and had disappeared.
* * *
Two senior newscasters were appearing on Channel 10 in their well-known daily news commentary program.
Abigail was at home and stretched her legs out on the coffee table as she watched the interviewer, Yaron Gader. He enthused about the incident and asked excitedly.
“Who is that woman in black?”
Lee Tamarin, the slant-eyed guest on the program sat facing Yaron.
“She’s a martial arts expert from the East, who entered Israel illegally.”
“Really? So how do you know she’s an expert? Was it just because she was so devilish fast and stood in the traditional opening position?
“Not at all. I’ll tell you that we found a weapon from the east on her or, rather, in her gloves that she didn’t get the opportunity to use at the time.”
The other host of the program, Modi, said in amazement:
“Would you have called it the battle between cat woman and an unknown woman? We found cat-woman and I ask the question that is on the lips of many others; where is the unknown woman?”
In the background, pictures from the café looked like a battleground. The camera zoomed in on one of the overturned tables and closed in on the woman in black with gloved hands. A tanned and shapely leg could be seen through the tears in her skirt as she lay on the sidewalk and appeared to be lifeless.
Lee commented that information about the case was still classified. The woman had entered the country without going through the standard immigration procedures and her activities here were clouded in mystery. Abigail smiled to herself.
“Like a movie, coming to life!” Modi added. “I can only surmise from the slant of the eyes of the woman in black, that we are possibly on the brink of a diplomatic incident with one of the countries in the Far East.”
Lee waved his hand dismissively. “I suggest that we avoid a real diplomatic misunderstanding with the country she came from in the Far East by not getting carried away.”
On the following day a color photograph appeared in the newspapers under the headline:
“BATTLE OF THE TITANS: FAR EAST MEETS MIDDLE EAST”
The story acquired a romantic and mysterious aura because the woman who had been victorious had disappeared. Journalists and curious onlookers gathered at the hospital where the mysterious woman lay. No identifying documents were found on her person so they waited for her to regain consciousness and begin to talk.
The woman was Korean and her n
ame was Modang. She lay almost completely still for hours and listened to everything going on around her, taking care to keep her eyes shut and not even open one of them even when she thought there was no one around. Her vast experience led her to be extremely cautious. She assumed she was being observed by surveillance cameras and that hidden eyes were watching her. Modang was certain that her Shuriken or ‘killing star’ that was always in her gloves, was now in the hands of her captors and her hands felt as naked as she did without them. She wore those gloves almost every day, relied on them for her defense, to prevent leaving fingerprints and protect her secrecy and anonymity.
She lay like that with her eyes closed, planning her next steps, and waiting for the surveillance to ease and for the dark of night. The complacency of her captors would be her best friend.
Modang listened to every murmur, but aside from the monotonous sound of the respirator echoing close by, she heard nothing. She allowed her dark eyelashes to part slightly, but she was unable to register anything more than the surrounding darkness and a blotch of light from the corridor.
With very delicate movements she pulled the IV needle out of the back of her hand, quietly pulled her clothes, which were folded near her bed, towards her and got up. She put on her blouse and put her legs into her torn skirt. She had no change of clothes. Now, she walked very quietly like a cat on its soft paws, walking with her back pressed close to the walls as she fumbled for her shoes.
Shuffling footsteps were heard. She froze and waited for them to pass. She could hear them moving to the right down the corridor. When she reached the door, she looked in all directions, waited a few seconds and went out. She walked calmly in the opposite direction of the dragging footsteps, and out of the department. The corridor was illuminated by a lamp at the nurse’s station. A nurse sat dozing at the station and only her cap was visible. Modang passed by her, reached the double doors of the entrance and pushed them open to the sudden cool that chilled her face. She went down the large steps easily, taking care not to touch the handrail and went out of the huge building into the paved courtyard. The place was jammed with people and traffic.
